


Action/Reaction

by pyalgroundblz (acidtonguejenny)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, PWP, Pheromones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 04:16:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidtonguejenny/pseuds/pyalgroundblz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was something to be said for bringing another alpha to bear. Bringing <i>Oliver</i> to bear. Alpha!Diggle/Alpha!Oliver</p>
            </blockquote>





	Action/Reaction

Diggle came onto the scene, late, as Oliver was driven to the rafters, nursing a swollen eye, a wrenched leg, and quite out of ammunition. He squeezed in with a pack of SWAT guys, having an emblazoned vest under his seat in the event such an opportunity arose. 

Six men were still on their feet when Dig and the police arrived, with several more moaning on the ground and others silent and unmoving. The dealer was upright with his remaining men, gun up and wild-eyed. He was visibly excited below the belt--sampling his own product. 

Diggle took care to get a hand on the man, and shoved him a little harder than necessary to cover placing evidence in his suit pocket. The police had a case, but he wanted to be sure they put Hanson Brown away. Pheromone dealing was among one of the worse things he'd seen in Iraq. He wouldn't stand for it at home, not when there was something that could be done about it.

The police lingered for hours, rounding up Brown’s guards in their color coordinated suits, waiting on ambulances for the injured and the corner for the three dead. Diggle floated around the outskirts of the crowd, walking the line between suspiciously silent and outing himself with careless chatter. He wasn't certain how well his homemade SWAT vest would stand up to inspection, either. No reason to give them a chance to notice.

Overhead, Oliver was a darker smudge wrapped around a beam. Diggle wondered why he hadn't slipped away yet.

He came down when all of the officers, EMTs, and mooks had left the area. dropping somewhat gracelessly from handhold to handhold. Diggle caught a whiff of him and stepped back, covering his nose.

"Oliver, you're covered."

" _He_ was covered." Oliver corrected acidly. He trembled from the effect of the pheromones, unfulfilled instincts making him irritable. "Let's go."

Diggle chuckled, but sympathized. The draft coming off Oliver in itself was enough to wet his mouth, as he followed him further into the complex. Past the warehouse, everything was sterile white and chrome--a lab. A series of them.

"Are we sure this guy was just into drugs?" Diggle asked.

Oliver's voice was ragged, his answers clipped. "This is Benton Pharmaceutical, a subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises. They manufacture hormones. Brown was a lab technician, ran his drug business out of the back room."

Diggle hummed, keeping an eye out for movement. The succession of labs and office spaces were dark for the night, lit only by the blue-white light of street lamps from outside. 

The shadowed, vaguely medical scenery creeped him out. Combined with the way the scent of friendly omega wafting off Oliver put his teeth on edge, and the healthy paranoia raised by so many desks and tables for trouble to be lurking behind, Diggle was pulling heavily on his military training to remain professional. The fact that Oliver's own, obviously fellow alpha smell lurked beneath the stench of pheromones both helped his composure, and didn't. Didn't, because while it was enough to confuse his hindbrain, it wasn't enough to put him off. Diggle had nothing against idemsexuality. He voted for marriage equality and everything, but it wasn't something he wanted for himself, and his moderate-conservative upbringing likewise balked.

He took an odd step to resettle his half-hard dick, and it was in the same moment that a guard in Hanson Brown's suit shoulder-charged Oliver into a cabinet. Glass shattered. John drew the cosh from his belt and cracked the attacker across the shoulders, dragged him off Oliver and leveraged the weapon over the man's throat until he stopped struggling. 

"Oliver," he began, turning, before the smell hit him. "Oh, fuck."

In the center of a mess of broken glass and omega pheromones, Oliver was swearing a blue streak. Distilled pheromones ran down his jacket in lines and dripped off his hood, and everywhere he put his hands, glass crunched beneath his gloves. 

Diggle hurried to shield his nose, pressing his nostrils flat with his sleeve, but it was too late--he'd already taken a deep, shocked lungful. It was a useless gesture even if not for that: this close to so many pheromones, so concentrated, it was as if they coated his skin and soaked into his pores. In seconds, every muscle in his body had gone bunged and tense, his dick hard enough to pound nails and his teeth aching with the urge to bite. 

And Oliver, clumsily rising and similarly affected, reeked of alpha almost as much he did omega, which helplessly confused John's senses. _Fight or fuck?_

"Base." Oliver grit desperately, teeth bared from the strain of controlling himself and reflecting white.

John caught him as he passed and pulled him up short. Oliver went rigid at his touch, definitely leaning more towards _fight_ than he was. He looked down at John's hand as if restraining himself from breaking it. "We can't be on the street like this." _As likely to be mobbed as we are to attack._

"And what do you suggest we do?" He snapped, literally, his teeth clacking together inches from Diggle's face.

John had a hand on Oliver's arm, squeezing, before he could stop himself. 

"Do not" he said, warning. "do that. Again." 

He shook Oliver hard and threw him back.

Oliver lunged for his throat.

They stumbled over the unconscious criminal and fell against a lab table, John taking its edge to the back with a pained grunt as he held Oliver off with brute strength. Usually strength wouldn't be enough, but Oliver was too consumed by rutting instinct to get fancy.

John grabbed him by the short hairs and pulled his head back, baring his neck, and was sitting up to frame Oliver's Adam's apple with his teeth, when Oliver jerked right and unbalanced them. Not pausing in their struggled, they rolled, and fell heavily to the floor.

On a normal day, John was destined to fail. He was big and slow compared to Oliver, who was too quick for John to press any advantage his size might have bought him. But they'd started this fight in close quarters, and within a thrillingly short time, John had his rival pinned and forcibly subdued.

Oliver breathed hard against his arm, hot puffs near the inside of his elbow, eyes wild, obviously enraged. With one arm held firmly to the tile, one trapped beneath the weight of their bodies, and his hips and torso turned so both legs were trapped in odd, straining angles, Oliver was down for the count. Winner: Diggle. 

John, hovering over a human buffet bar of heat pheromones, blood hot with adrenaline and triumph, pressed his face where the hood had slipped and purred against hot skin. 

Oliver twitched under him, frustrated and impotent, and stubborn as hell, and John had to hand it to the alpha-idems him knew: there was something to be said for bringing another alpha to bear. Bringing Oliver to bear.

John pushed his nose against a spot on Oliver's hairline where a few beads of liquid had stuck, and groaned. Oliver growled, guttural, and bucked. John ignored him in favor of pursuing that heavenly scent; the pin held. 

"Amazing," he said, throat clogged, barely understandable.

Oliver snarled again, but it was more of a whine, a begging noise. He moved again but not, John realized, to dislodge him, rather to try and get some pressure on his straining erection. 

John made a low, pleased noise, chuckling thickly, and easily released the captured arm. Oliver's hand immediately darted down, and John laughed. Then he groaned, and licked a puddle of wet that had gathered on the side of Oliver's nose. Pheromones mostly, some sweat, more than only a hint of alpha in it, the taste now in his mouth. It didn't quell his arousal in the slightest. 

John slammed his hips hard into Oliver's backside so they both groaned, and when Oliver finally undid the fastenings on his pants to reach himself, John darted a hand under the waistband to roughly touch his ass.

Oliver flinched, but didn't snap, only made that vaguely concessionary noise again. 

Dry, of course. John gnashed his teeth, so close to Oliver's ear that he earned himself an angry yelp. Of course. Just because he smelled mostly like an omega at the moment didn't mean his body was going to act like one. John wasn't thinking clear enough for this. 

Oliver grunted, mildly indignant, when John wrenched his pants down and shoved a hastily wetted palm between his legs, attempting to slick up the inside of his thighs. Repeated, until John was satisfied that he wouldn't burn himself with friction, at which point he unzipped his own pants and brought out a heavy, swollen-dark cock, hissing at the cool air, and pressed it between Oliver's legs. The snubbed head pushed past Oliver's softly haired sack, the shaft flat to his perineum.

Oliver groaned, arching his neck to tuck his head beneath John's chin. He made whistling, approving, sighing sounds as John hummed lowly and stroked the column of his throat, thrusting his cock in and out of the warmth of Oliver's thighs, still kissing his face and hair. He felt the rhythmic jerks of Oliver pulling desperately on his cock, heard the aggravated whine at the dry, unpleasant sensation.

Unpleasant or not, he managed to come first, though he did so with an aggravated moan, still working his dick like he could wring a better orgasm out of himself if he tried. John helped himself to Oliver’s rapidly cooling spunk to slick his last, forceful thrusts. He came against Oliver’s ballsack with a grunt and a hard exhalation through his nose. Then he released Oliver and rolled away from him with a groan.

The pheromones were still there, but with an orgasm behind both of them, no matter how crappy of one, the siren-call edge had been worn off. Instead of enticing, mouth-watering, they’d turned cloying in John’s nose, so he tried to sneeze them out.

The guard, a few feet again, made a waking sound. Oliver kicked him smartly in the head.

“Base?” He said, a few breaths later, voice sounding like he’d gargled rocks.

John tried to laugh, but really couldn’t be bothered. “Base.”

**Author's Note:**

> Idemsexuality because I needed a word and made one up. According to Google Translate 'idem' is Latin for 'same/equal', so, uh, word smoosh.
> 
> ...I also feel like there's some unspoken rule that every writer only gets one A/B/O AU, but damn it it's like 80% of my kinks.


End file.
